


and one

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-01 09:45:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18333512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: Absence hasn’t helped Shuuzou’s ability to discern between when Tatsuya’s flirting and when he’s not.





	and one

**Author's Note:**

> (the universe where nijihimu go to usc together & shuu leaves for the nba a year earlier and gets drafted by the nets)
> 
> happy 4/4 nijihimu

In person, Tatsuya shines enough to block out the doorway with light. He looks gorgeous in print, the splashy centerpiece of Sports Illustrated’s March Madness preview, and on TV where he’s somehow on both ends of the court at once, on every play, regularly putting up stat lines better than his best last year. Last year’s team was better; Shuuzou’s not saying that to brag. It was their two explosive star freshmen as much as his physical play and ball-handling and quote-unquote leadership and grit that got them to the finals last year. Those two have been tearing it up in the league; Shuuzou’s just starting to get regular minutes. USC men’s basketball is a shell of what it was, supposedly, but Tatsuya’s doing his damned best to carry the rest of the team on his back by doing everything all at once and it’s working.

You wouldn’t have to know Tatsuya to guess that this is what he wants, proving to the world how good he is when no one even asked him to do that and daring anyone to find a flaw in his game. It’s beautiful to watch, but a little bit painful on Shuuzou’s end, that Tatsuya’s full potential is without him. His own face is washed-out when he looks at it in the mirror (which is no more than he has to); he feels listless. His shots are still crisp and he’s running down the court faster than he thought he could but Shuuzou still feels laggy. He’ll never be used to all this plane travel, and maybe someday he’ll be used to getting somewhere, playing a game, and getting out before he finds his bearings in yet another over-the-top hotel room where he sleeps alone in a king size bed. He can’t complain about it, really, but it’s isolating to say the least.

The words all jostle to the front of his brain as if they’re going to pound his skull from the inside and give him a headache, and he still hasn’t properly greeted Tatsuya.

“You look good,” Shuuzou manages.

“Thanks,” says Tatsuya. “So do you.”

Shuuzou snorts. “I look like shit.”

“I’d tell you if you did,” Tatsuya says, and leads him into the apartment that used to be theirs. “You look stronger.”

Shuuzou shrugs; Tatsuya will see it without looking. He does, twisting his head to look back and acknowledge it with a small smile, and they’re already falling back into the routine Shuuzou wishes they’d never given up.

“Working out?” says Tatsuya.

Absence hasn’t helped Shuuzou’s ability to discern between when Tatsuya’s flirting and when he’s not, though Shuuzou hasn’t had to worry about making the distinction for years. Tatsuya hasn’t, either, but he’s probably been aware the whole time, compartmentalizing his intentions in rows of planted seeds.

The remark is facetious, but Tatsuya’s waiting for an answer. Shuuzou would have given him one, any other time, but he’s too spent to let his mind go on more than one track right now, and he’s circling around the drain. He’ll fall down it sooner or later, and if it’s going to happen anyway there’s no point to staying here trapped in his own head and holding it back.

“I miss you,” Shuuzou says.

Tatsuya’s eyebrow flicks up, a conscious acknowledgement. “I miss you, too.”

He turns, leaning against the kitchen doorway. There’s still a smudge on the other side from where Shuuzou had grabbed it every morning when he hadn’t had to, the height of his raised hand.

“I miss us. I know it’s weird, me being a pro and you still being in school, and we don’t know who’s going to draft you or where you’ll end up and you could be here or Arizona or Texas, or you could be on the east coast and I could get traded to, like, Denver, but—you’re here and I’m in Brooklyn and I still want to be with you. And I get it if it’s still not what you want, or you can’t deal with it, and I know you’ve been doing amazing on your own and I’m not trying to crowd into your glory or anything like that, but—I’m tired and I’m stressed and I miss my dad and I hate flying and I’m not asking you to deal with it for me, but. Ah, fuck it.”

Shuuzou wipes the corner of his eye with his hand. He hadn’t meant to cry or ramble or make it sound like he’s some kind of foul-weather person who only wants Tatsuya there to help him with his shit. Tatsuya’s always had a way of cutting through his words and grabbing their meaning like fish in a festival game.

Tatsuya was never the one who initiated hugs, and it’s a little awkward when he wraps his arms around Shuuzou. It’s weird, being on the other side of this, the opposite of how it’s almost always been, the two of them working towards Tatsuya working towards confronting his own messy feelings, or a mutual disappointment, and different entirely from all the stuff with Shuuzou’s father.

“Oh, Shuu…”

Shuuzou’s arms are trapped against his side, but he wriggles them free and around Tatsuya’s waist. Tatsuya’s stronger now, too; it’s not so evident when Shuuzou looks at him but his chest and back feel broader and firmer.

There’s nothing really preventing Shuuzou from calling Tatsuya up and venting to him when he’s had a shit day, or just hanging out on the phone line to talk, theoretically. They’re still friends, and they’ve kept in touch, sending tweets and congratulatory texts and dumb inside jokes back and forth. But there’s been this invisible wall—Tatsuya has to have felt it, too—that stops Shuuzou from going any further. He’d be sending a mixed message; Tatsuya doesn’t want to hear about his fucking NBA player problems; they’re not together anymore.

“I miss us, too,” Tatsuya says, squeezing Shuuzou harder.

He doesn’t follow it up with a well-reasoned argument why they shouldn’t; he passes the ball back to Shuuzou but it’s not just winding down the shot clock. He’s gifted Shuuzou right where he’s open and the shot is clear. Shuuzou hadn’t said all of this because he’d figured Tatsuya would say no. He wouldn’t do that shit; he doesn’t think that far in advance and try to wedge his emotions into a strategy game. They’ve spent too long apart for him to delay it any longer.

“Then be with me,” says Shuuzou.

He kisses Tatsuya’s neck. Tatsuya always says he makes it sound simpler than it really is, but Shuuzou’s pretty sure Tatsuya just makes it more complicated in his own mind. That doesn’t make this a flat, straight line, but even free throws are no sure thing.


End file.
